


Relapse

by From_these_ashes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Cutting, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, POV Bruce Banner, POV Clint Barton, Pre-Slash, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:24:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/From_these_ashes/pseuds/From_these_ashes
Summary: Clint's having a bad night. Bruce walks in on him and patches him up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcannon, which I'll refer to as "How many people did I kill?" Bros, Bruce looks out for Clint who struggles to forgive himself. Bruce helps him as best he can, sticking near him, choosing the room next to him and sharing a bathroom with him because Bruce has been in Clint's shoes before. And Clint doesn't have a Hulk to put him back together if he goes too far. See the tags before reading for trigger warnings.

When he had first walked in on Clint with a knife in his hand and blood in the sink Bruce hadn’t made a sound. He had just wordlessly walked over and taken the knife from trembling fingers, studying the eyes that wouldn’t look up from the floor. He grabbed what he needed from the cabinet and gently pulled Clint down to the floor with him, seating Clint between his legs so he could rest his back on Bruce and not have to look Bruce in the eyes just yet. Clint made a mental note to thank him for that later.

 

“What happened?” Bruce asked, even though he had a good guess. He slid a dark towel under Clint’s forearms, wounds facing up as he waited for a reply.

 

_A dark towel. To hide the blood. Smart._

 

“M’sorry.” Clint finally slurred, his mind clouded with fog.

 

“Hey. It’s alright. Talk when you’re ready.” He held Clint to his chest for a few seconds before getting up to wet a clean washcloth and work some suds into it. People often thought alcohol or peroxide were best for wound care, but Bruce knew better. Mild soap wouldn’t cause as much damage to the cells themselves.

 

“I’ll be back in a second, Clint” He turned to look at Clint who still sat hunched forward with blood running slowly over the edges of his forearms and disappearing into the towel below. _Oh, Clint…_ Bruce tried to give him a small reassuring smile before he disappeared to the kitchen, but Clint still just sat frozen, eyes glued to the floor. Bruce disappeared just long enough to fill a pitcher with water before returning to Clint’s side. He set down the pitcher and settled back into his spot behind Clint, gently nuzzling his neck for a moment before Clint’s eyes settled on the washcloth in Bruce’s hand.

 

“Do we have to?” a voice filled with dread. _Not a whine. The Amazing Hawkeye doesn’t whine._

Bruce noted Clint starting to come back to himself.

 

“I wish I didn’t have to.” He said it softly, but felt Clint stiffen against him.

 

“God, no Clint. That’s not what I meant. Yes, I wish you hadn’t… But please… do _not_ feel guilty. That is the last thing I want. I’m not mad at you, we all have setbacks, okay?”

 

_We all have setbacks._ Clint pondered that.

 

“Okay.” He pulled Bruce’s free hand into his lap, tracing patterns over the smooth skin of Bruce’s wrist, over the scars the Other Guy wouldn’t let him keep.

 

Bruce would never admit that his mind stuttered at the small gesture, at Clint comforting _him._

 

“I’m sorry, but you know I have to.” Bruce moved the washcloth closer to Clint’s arm, but waited for permission.

 

A small nod, as Clint moved to intertwine his fingers with Bruce’s, giving him something to hold on to. _Okay._

Bruce tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, as he focused on just being a doctor, forcing himself to spend the necessary amount of time gently washing the wounds that spanned the archer’s arm. Several raw, angry red lines cut across the expanse of skin, some deep and still dripping blood. Bruce gave up trying to be detached, this was _Clint. Perfect, beautifully human, unfathomably considerate and compassionate Clint. You stopped to comfort me, ignoring your own needs… you really need to stop doing that._ Bruce couldn’t understand how people could miss that about Clint, he was perhaps the biggest hero out of all of them and people looked at him and hardly saw him. _The Amazing Hawkeye indeed, but not for the reasons most people would tell you._ Tears slowly traced down Bruce’s face as the soap’s white foam turned to pink, and then to red. Clint never said a word, just kept his grip on Bruce’s other hand as he trembled against Bruce. Finally, Bruce reached for the pitcher of water and began to pour it over Clint’s arm. Clint hissed and Bruce murmured apologies in Clint’s ear, setting down the pitcher to wrap his hand around the archer, pulling him closer. After a moment, Clint disentangled his fingers from Bruce’s and pulled Bruce’s hand off his stomach.

 

“Go ahead Doc, get it over with.” He nodded towards his remaining arm, held out waiting for Bruce. They lapsed into silence as Bruce washed Clint’s arm, letting his other arm bleed a bit more to push out anything that remained. Both were comfortable with the silence, knowing there was nothing that needed to be said at that time. Soon both arms were washed. Bruce moved to kneel in front of Clint, a better angle for pressing down gauze onto the cuts to stop the bleeding. After holding down the gauze for a few minutes, he’d check the bleeding again to decide if stitches were needed. For Clint’s sake, he hoped they weren’t. Now with nothing to do but wait, he figured he’d try getting Clint to open up again.

 

“Clint?”

“Hmm?”

“Ready to talk yet?”

Clint sighed but nodded.

“I had a nightmare.” He paused, trying to decide just how much to share with Bruce. He sighed again as he chose to be completely honest.

“I don’t remember when I’m awake, how many people I killed then, but sometimes I see them when I dream. I see all the people I hurt and killed, and all the people that died because of me. I forget as I wake up, but this time was different. They wouldn’t go away, I had to make them go away…” Clint’s voice broke and he bowed his head.

 

“Hey. It’s alright, I understand. You know I do. But I thought I told you to come to me when you feel like hurting yourself?”

 

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Bruce had looked so peaceful, dreaming quietly as Clint had looked on. He had quickly walked away, feeling guilty for being such a burden in Bruce’s life. Then he hadn’t meant for Bruce to find him like he had, in the middle of trying to cut himself free of his demons and guilt.

 

“Please, please, do not think you are not worth my time. I don’t care what time it is, come and find me. Come and find me before if you can, and do not feel guilty. Not for anything you’ve done or for how you feel. You are the most selfless person I know and you deserve not to put yourself last _every single time_. You can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself. Trust me, I know.” He tried again to look into Clint’s eyes, and this time Clint held his gaze for a few moments before looking away.

 

“I hope you know I care about you, I don’t like it when you always put yourself last.”

 

Clint nodded, blinking away tears. He hadn’t quite recovered his voice. Bruce seemed to understand.

 

“I’ve been there, you know I have. Just because I don’t have the scars doesn’t mean I haven’t been in your exact position, taking the self-hatred out on yourself for hurting innocent people. You just have to keep fighting until you can finally accept that it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“But it was my fault! I should’ve gotten away from him when I had the chance. I hesitated. Let him think he had control so I could see what he would do. I underestimated him Bruce, I should’ve never let the scepter come near me.” Clint’s eyes bored into Bruce’s. _This is who I am, what I’ve done. Can you still say it’s not my fault?_

Bruce’s heart broke at what he saw in those eyes. Clint just didn’t see it yet, that it really wasn’t his fault.

 

“Look, I know you won’t believe me, but it wasn’t your fault. Someday, hopefully soon, you’ll come to accept that. I did. It’s not easy, but you _can_ do it. Until then, promise me you won’t do something I can’t fix.” New tears prickled at the corners of Bruce’s eyes. Clint hated to see him like this.

 

“I don’t want to lose you, even if someday you think the world is better off without you. It’s not. Someday you’ll see that, until then, promise you’ll trust my judgement and keep fighting?” The tears now ran freely, and Clint’s heart ached at the pain in Bruce’s eyes. _Pain over me. He shouldn’t care._ He trusted what he had seen in Bruce’s eyes though, they didn’t call him Hawkeye for nothing. He may not know why, but Bruce cared about him more than he had previously thought.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, sorry I scared you, Bruce. I’ll try to find you in the future, but I can’t make any promises. But I won’t kill myself, I won’t do that to you.”

 

“Good… I care about you, idiot.” The last word was a lighthearted tease, meant to lift some of the weight from the room, and it did just that. Clint chuckled.

 

“Speaking of idiots, aren’t you forgetting something, Doc?” Clint made a point of glancing down to where Bruce’s hands were still pressing down on the gauze.

 

“Shit, sorry. Are you ready?”

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

Bruce carefully pulled away the gauze from first one arm, and then the other. He was relieved to see the flow of blood had stopped.

 

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but I should keep an eye on it to make sure. I’d like to avoid stitches if we can.” He was back in doctor mode, already unwrapping more gauze to bandage Clint’s arms with.

“That way you have an excuse to check up on me more?” Clint couldn’t resist winking at him, meaning to tease him for how comfortable he had been with physically comforting Clint. He knew Bruce would’ve done the same for anyone, Clint just wanted to get a rise out of him.

 

“Uh, what… No, stitches are just a pain if you don’t even need them.” _Damn it, I thought he was too out of it to notice._

Clint noticed the way Bruce stuttered, the beginnings of a blush, the way his pupils immediately dilated and that Bruce hadn’t immediately fired back with a sarcastic comment of his own. Clint’s comment had somehow hit a little too close to home. _Interesting._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hopefully I'll be posting more in the future, maybe some stuff previous to this or after this if I get enough response. Or maybe even if noone cares. Like it? Hate it? Let me know below!


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